I see the red marks on my skin

from rubbing, washing,

from the cold.

 

I see the pimples on my chin

because make-up can only cover so much

 

I see the lines in my forehead

‘stress lines’ my mom tells me

‘you’d be so much prettier if you stopped worrying’

 

I see the bump in my nose

which I inherited from my dad

 

And the yellow stains on my teeth

from late night coffee

while I stayed up all night to study

 

I see the cracks in my lips

from biting them

from anxiety

 

I see the flakes in my skin

eczema, stress, dry winters

 

And I see the bags under my eyes

the feeling of being permanently exhausted

always tired

 

But I still smile

because all of these things are mine,

and they show that I have lived a life

that is also mine.

 

 

Because when I smile;

 

 

I also see the way my hair curls,

when freshly washed

 

And my eye color

that changes in the light,

from brown to golden

 

I see the curve of my jawline,

and the birthmarks under my neck

 

I see the constellations of freckles on my nose

the ones that reappear for three months of the year,

then fade, gradually, in the winter.

 

I see the top of my cheekbones

that look best when i grin

 

I see the laughter lines

years and years of giggling

until my sides hurt and

I couldn’t breathe.

 

I see the good days

weekends at the beach

inside jokes

aced math tests

and music.

 

I see the ‘to-be-announced’ good days,

graduation

college

kids

 

When I take pictures of myself,

I see myself.

All that is and will be.

Even without the filters.